It’s wet out here, but not currently raining.
The mountains are covered in fresh snow.
And now that I’ve worked out some aggression, I feel better. Lena’s fine. I like having her around. But she’s just the job, and she’ll be gone soon enough. Then, I can get back to work.
I already postponed my next round of trainees by two months, just to be on the safe side, but I can do a lot remotely.
In fact, I need to get home and spend an hour in my office before dinner.
The house is still and silent when I walk inside, and for some reason, that puts my back up. I move to the pantry and press a hidden button on the inside panel, and when it opens, I pull out theGlockI have stashed there, make sure there’s a round in the chamber, and silently stalk through the house.
It’stoostill.
Something’s going on.
Once the lower floor is cleared, I move to the stairs. There’s nothing out of place. No sign of struggle or forced entry.
It’s only my gut telling me that something’s off.
I take the stairs two at a time, my weapon at my side, and look in each bedroom that’s not currently being used.
Nothing.
Lena’s door is slightly ajar, and I push it open, but I don’t find her inside. She’s also not on the other side of the bed, closest to the wall. But the bathroom door is pushed most of the way closed, and the light is on.
There she is.
Silently, I back out of her room and check the laundry and my office and bedroom, and find it all clear, so I tuck the gun in the waist of my pants, at my back.
Everything’s fine.
I don’t know what set me on edge.
But when I walk past her bedroom again, a noise catches my attention. Amoan.
Walk away. Get your ass out of here.
My feet move, all right, but not away from the room. My traitorous body takes me right inside it, closer to the bathroom, where the shower is running now, and I can hear throaty moans coming from inside.
Jesus fuck, this is none of your business.
But I can’t leave.
Like a goddamn creeper, I peek through the slight opening in the doorway, and there she is, in the shower. The glass door is fogged up, so I can’t see her in detail, and I wish I could see the metal in her nipples, but I can clearly tell that she has one foot up on the bench at the end of the walk-in shower, and she’s pointing that showerhead right at her pussy. Her hips move, chasing an orgasm.
Motherfucking hell, I want to be in that shower more than I want to breathe.
So I do the only thing I can do. I lock the door from the inside and slam it shut, keeping myself out.
Keeping her safe fromme.
And then I storm down the hall and lock myself in my office while I jack off, leaning against my desk, imagining that I have her bent over, fucking her from behind.
Fuck.
I should have taken her up on having her reassigned.
But the thought of her leaving is unacceptable. It makes me feral.
